"Kill you! No, I don't wish to do that; I'll only wish you half the misery you have caused me, and that shall be your punishment and my revenge."
And then he turned to leave her; but Frances sprang forward and stopped him.
"Do not go away like that, Charles. Do not go, leaving almost a curse behind you. I have not been guilty of half the wickedness you accuse me of. I did say Miss Neville did not love you; but—but I believed it."
"You did not," he cried. "You hated and then you slandered her."
"And if I did, it was your fault; yours, for you taught me to love you."
"You love me! It is like the rest false, and a flimsy attempt to palliate your wickedness."
"No, no; it is true. I have loved you for years past," exclaimed Frances, sinking on her knees, and hiding her face, "and—and I thought you loved me, too, until she came and took your love away; and then I hated her—yes, words cannot tell how much I hated her. What had I in life worth living for when your love was gone? and I thought if I could only take her away from you, your heart would come back to me again. If you have suffered, what have not I? and she never could have loved you to have married another. Oh! forgive me, Charles, forgive me! and don't—don't hate me."
"Forgive you!" he replied. "No; years hence, when we meet again, I may, but not now."
"Years hence? Are you going away, then? Oh! you cannot be so cruel!"
"In another month I shall leave England, perhaps for ever,—a broken-hearted wretch, with an aimless, hopeless existence. All this you have driven me to, and yet you ask me to forgive you. For her sake—hers, of whom I dare not trust myself to speak—I will not, cannot forgive you!"